'You cannot go in this snow, John,' she said eventually.
CHAPTER NINE
Matilda was right about the weather and it was another two days before he could set out for Hempston Arundell with Gwyn. The sky cleared, and though the weather remained very cold, a weak sun dispersed most of the snow, leaving only patches here and there in the shadows.
Thomas was left behind, much to his relief, as he was a reluctant horseman who would only slow them down as they rode along the frozen ruts of the country tracks.
Also, he was anxious to take part in the cathedral's remaining Maletide festivities.
With unusual solicitude for his wife's welfare while he was away, John made sure that Mary and Lucille would attend to her every need, though he knew there would be a constant stream of well-wishers coming to the house from amongst her friends at St Olave's.
With the Cornishman close alongside, as Gwyn still seemed determined not to let him out of sight for fear of some ambush, de Wolfe rode out of the city early in the morning and crossed the ford beyond the West Gate to reach the southern road to the west of the county.
The track was in better condition than John had expected and the weather had improved, so they made good time. They stopped at a tavern in Kingsteignton to feed and water their horses and themselves, then carried on in the direction of Totnes until, about noon, they reached Berry Pomeroy. The castle there was a forbidding pile, built on the edge of a cliff amongst dense woodland, almost within arrow-shot of Hempston Arundell. Rebuilt in stone after the original timber stockade became out-dated, the castle had sufficient clearance around it for defence, though this had never been needed. Its main strength was the precipice that fell from its walls down to the gorge beneath, The twin towers of the gatehouse were guarded by a sentinel who grudgingly allowed them into the bailey, where John growled at a servant to take him to his lord.
They were shown into a hall built against the curtain wall of the inner ward. Here Gwyn soon managed to find some more food and drink, while, a steward conducted John to a chamber on an upper floor, where Henry de la Pomeroy received him with more than a little suspicion. The thick-set, stocky knight had not yet heard from Richard de Revelle about the attacker in Exeter, and when de Wolfe tersely related that the assailant had threatened the pair of them, Henry thawed somewhat and sent for wine, inviting the coroner to sit with him before the hearth of the draughty room, where wind moaned through two slit windows high up in the bleak walls.
'This man connected his killings with Hempston ArundeU,' said John bluntly. 'It sounded like an act of revenge, with more to follow, which is why I have come here today. I intend to go over to Hempston after leaving here.'
'What did de Revelle have to say about this?' asked Henry. Unlike John's brother-in-law, the burly manor lord seemed unperturbed by the possibility of a direct threat to himself.
'He was mainly concerned for his own safety, but had no suggestions as to who might be the perpetrator. Whoever he is, when I get my hands on him, I'll strangle the bastard for what he did to my wife.'
Henry's head nodded on his thick neck. He was still wary of this dark man, who exactly a year earlier had been instrumental in defeating his efforts to revive a rebellion on behalf of Prince John. Both he and de Revelle had wriggled out of serious trouble over that, but he knew they were both marked men in the eyes of the king's loyalists, and that the Chief Justiciar had appointed de Wolfe partly to keep an eye on them.
'If he tries any tricks here, he'll get short shrift,' promised Henry. 'I've had a new gallows erected in the village and I'd be happy to let him try it out.'
'Have you any notion of who this might be?' demanded de Wolfe. 'The obvious choice is one of the outlaw gang that left Hempston when you took it from its lawful owner.' He had no compunction about being direct and possibly offensive towards Henry, as he knew that he, like Richard, still had ambitions to further himself within Prince John's camp.
De la Pomeroy glowered at this, but managed to turn the other cheek. 'It could be Nicholas himself,' he answered, his face reddening. 'He and his gang have stolen from our bartons, poached endlessly from my deer park, and generally made damned nuisances of themselves. This might just be a new departure for him in his attempts to discomfit me.'
The coroner shook his head. 'I can't believe a knight and a Crusader would attack a lone woman in a churchyard, especially one he knew was the wife of a fellow Crusader.'
'But he knew she was a sister to de Revelle, or he wouldn't have left that message with her,' objected Henry stubbornly.
'It's far more likely that it was one of his men, one of those who was ejected by you and Richard from Hempston. Have you no suggestion as to which of them it might be?'
Pomeroy made a rude noise. 'How the hell do I know who ran off with the bloody man? I don't know the names of villagers in the next manor. I only recall that the old steward was called Hereward or some such.' De Wolfe found the manners and company of the lord not much to his liking and, swallowing the rest of his wine, he stood up and made to leave.
'I really wanted to discover how we could track these outlaws down. Have you any idea where they might be?' Henry lumbered to his feet and stood with his fists aggressively planted on his hips. 'We chased them off a few times when they came raiding down to Berry or Hempston, but they are like quicksilver on a tray. God knows where on the moor they live, no doubt they have several hideouts.' He marched to the door and opened it, ready to hand John over to the servant waiting outside. 'You'll never find them, especially in this weather. I don't know how they survive out in that wilderness.'
John turned as he went to the head of the stairs. 'I'm off to Hempston now, to see if anyone there has better memories than you. There may be questions at the next Eyre about how the place came into your possession!' With this veiled threat, he stumped down to collect Gwyn and soon they were back in the saddle. After enquiring of the surly guard at the gate, they went back along the track and turned off on a narrow lane through dense trees until they reached the Gatcombe brook, which they followed down to the little River Hems which flowed through a shallow valley that contained the hamlet. Hempston was built on the opposite bank, a cluster of cottages on a rise of ground with a wooden church fight against the small manor house. A bank, ditch and stockade surrounded both buildings, which were obviously old and in need of repair.
'Not much of a place,' grunted Gwyn as they walked their horses up the hill from the small wooden bridge over the Hems, which was little more than a large stream.
'Good fertile soil, by the look of it. Plenty of water and shelter from the winds in this valley,' countered John, who liked the look of the village.
A few villeins were digging out turnips in the strip fields on each side of the track, looking as if they were muffled up in every garment they possessed against the bitter weather. They cast wary eyes over the two strangers and watched uneasily as they entered the open gates in the fence around the manor house. Here again there were signs of neglect: the compound was unkempt, with weeds growing in the paths, loose shingles on the roof, and tattered thatch on the various outbuildings.
Two men were shoeing a mare at one side, and they also looked suspiciously at the visitors.
'Don't seem a very happy place, this,' grunted Gwyn. 'Reminds me of Sampford Peverel, where we had all that trouble a few months back.'
As they dismounted, one of the men, a short fellow of about twenty with a crop of pustules under his chin, came across. 'And who might you be?' he asked rudely.